I'll Let You Live
by Mrs.Monster
Summary: "It was only a little murder. He barely counted; besides, he threw up on my shoes." Jim/Molly romantic comedy.


_**(Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **__**Sherlock**__**. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Just a stupid little one shot, not Sherlolly, for once. What do they call the Jim/Molly pairing? Anyway, just a random Jim Moriarty/Molly Hooper romcom that I've had moldering in the archives for a while. It's OC/AU and would never, ever happen in canon. Ever. But I thought a slightly domesticated Jim would be funny, so here we have it.**_

_**Hope you enjoy!)**_

**I'll Let You Live**

**[-]**

Molly let herself into the flat, arms loaded down with plastic grocery bags. She lugged them through the sitting room and off the hall into the kitchen, dumping her burden on the small honey maple table. She was putting the milk away, and getting the sausage she would need for dinner out of the fridge when she heard a sound from down the hall. She paused, listening, and a few seconds later, she heard it again. It was a familiar sound, one she'd grown used to over the past year and a half. Molly left the kitchen and walked down the short, carpeted hall, passed the bedroom and to what was supposed to be a second bedroom, but was being used as a small home office. Faint light glowed from under the closed door, and Molly pushed it open quietly. She shook her head and leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms under her breasts, looking at the man in front of her.

Jim Moriarty sat in front of their computer, tapping away at the keys, giggling. She couldn't make out exactly what was on the screen from this angle, but she could only assume it wasn't anything legal. Jim was hunched slightly, dressed in gray lounge pants and a white t-shirt. His dark hair was combed as neatly as always, and Molly thought about how much things had changed since she'd first met him at the hospital. He'd lied to her then, playing _Jim from IT, _instead of being the man she knew now.

She cleared her throat, and Jim sat up straight, a few more clicks and the computer screen went dark.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked, trying to hide her smirk.

"Uh…" he spun around in the office chair, dark eyes wide. "Looking at porn?"

Molly pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh while attempting to appear disapproving. "You hacked into the Pentagon mainframe again, didn't you?"

Jim sighed and looked away. "Maybe," he mumbled.

"We'll talk about this later," she told him, turning from the room. "Dinner in thirty." She pulled the door closed behind her.

Back in the kitchen, Molly's composure finally broke and she laughed while she started the water for pasta. He was completely ridiculous. _Looking at porn… _She laughed harder, browning sausage and popping the lid off a jar of sauce.

Yes, he was completely ridiculous, and that's what made her love him completely.

**[-]**

Jim sat back in his chair, looking at the closed door, listening hard. When he heard her laughter from the kitchen, he relaxed and turned back around. Not much was known about the consulting criminal, but those closest to him, not that there were many, were aware of one of his major personality facets.

Jim Moriarty _lived _for surprises. He loved being caught off guard, the thrill of just not seeing something coming; these were a few of the things that made the day-to-day monotony bearable. The woman in the other room was the biggest surprise he'd ever gotten.

This had all started with that insufferable Sherlock Holmes. Jim had thought that maybe, _just maybe, _Sherlock would be the one to keep him occupied, offer a challenge. He'd first come across Molly as a way to get closer to his polar opposite. A shy, mousy girl who was hopelessly infatuated with the man. He'd wooed her, swept her off her feet (all the while pretending to be gay) and then once it was over, had dropped the seemingly dull girl without a second thought.

But it just so happened to turn out that when Molly Hooper was angry, she was bloody _gorgeous. _He still had no idea how she'd tracked him to the warehouse he'd been conducting… business in, but she had. She'd parked her tiny silver car outside the door just after his associates had left, a rare moment when he found himself alone. He'd been _surprised _when the heavy wooden door banged open and she was there, all flared nostrils, heaving chest and clenched fists. She didn't appreciate being _used, _she'd said, right before socking him in the jaw and knocking him on his ass. He'd never forget the look on her face when he'd started laughing and asked her if she'd go to dinner with him. Molly had called him an insufferable bastard, kicked him in the leg and marched out. Jim had sat on the cold cement floor, watching as she slammed the door behind her, thinking that he may have found the _something _he'd been looking for. That had been nearly two years ago.

For her, he'd dialed the business back. Not enough for him to lose face, but enough to make a difference to her. For her, he became monogamous. For her, he sat through _horribly _dull movies and dinners with John Watson and his utterly _insufferable _boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. The man who'd started this entire thing. Jim laughed at himself now for even entertaining the thought, once upon a time, that Sherlock would be the one to have the _something, _the _challenge _he'd been looking for.

Shaking his head, Jim pulled his chair back to the desk and with a few taps, brought the computer screen to life again. She'd been right; he _had _hacked into the Pentagon's mainframe. Just for something to do. Ridiculous Americans; it was hilarious to see them scramble when he'd go in and muck up their files. It was the little things, really, that made life worth it.

"Jim! Dinner," Molly called down the hall. With a sigh, Jim clicked out of the American government's mainframe and shut the computer down. As fun as it was to rattle high-up officials, it was nothing compared to spending time with his girlfriend.

**[-]**

The couple sat across from each other at their small kitchen table, too preoccupied with their food to make conversation. It was an oddly domestic scene; a ruthless criminal mastermind and a pathologist sitting in the comfortable quiet of their kitchen, eating pasta.

After a while, Molly noticed, it became too much for Jim. She knew that her _we'll talk about it later _would have this effect on him, and he began shifting restlessly in his seat. In a few moments, he would burst, and she waited with no little amusement.

She watched his face turn red, then as he set his fork down and began tugging on the folds at the knees of his pants. Molly took a drink of her water, and waited some more.

"Okay, it's later now," Jim burst out. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

Molly bit down on her lower lip and set her glass down. "Not particularly, though we did talk about doing things like that on the home computer."

Jim scowled, still fiddling with his pants. "I stopped killing for you. At least let me have a _little _fun."

Molly pushed her plate away. "You did, did you? Then maybe you could explain the thug that came through my morgue last night." The man had been brought in by a uniformed officer, and as soon as she began her examination, Molly knew that it was Jim's doing; she knew her boyfriend's work when she saw it.

His face flushed darker, and he looked up at her sheepishly. "It was only a _little _murder. He barely counted; besides, he threw up on my shoes."

Molly sat back in her seat, crossed her arms, and gave him The Look. Jim unconsciously mimicked her, attempting to glare a hole through her head. She looked away first, pushing back from the table. Molly was in the middle of gathering dishes when Jim stood as well, and she felt his arms encircle her from behind.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. It won't happen again." He kissed the side of her neck, just under her ear. "Forgive me?"

Setting the plates down, Molly turned in his arms, hands sliding up his shoulders. "Only because you're an adorable leprechaun."

Jim leaned down and kissed her lips, then pulled back giving her a serious look. "You know if you ever call me that in public, I'll have to kill you."

"Shut up," Molly mumbled, and then pulled him back down to her.

**[-]**

The lab was quiet save the soothing hum of equipment, and Molly enjoyed it as she sat at her computer finishing paperwork so she could go home. Jim was away for a few days, taking care of some type of business in Egypt; Molly didn't ask too many questions. At times it amazed her how at ease she was with what Jim did. Granted, he'd scaled things back considerably, but he was still involved with some seriously nasty business. Of course, their relationship hadn't always been as easy as it was now.

Molly had been mortified when she'd been informed of Jim's real identity, and the real reason he had dated her. So mortified, in fact, she felt the rare urge to actually kill someone. Instead, she'd settled for punching him in the face after she'd cornered Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, and demanded he tell her Jim's whereabouts. When Jim, lying on the stone floor of that warehouse blood trickling from his lip, had asked her to dinner, she'd been sure that he was messing with her again. He wasn't, as he proved when she showed up at her door a few nights later with every intention of taking her out. Molly had slammed the door in his face and called the police, but he vanished before they arrived.

This had gone on for nearly a month. He would show up, and she would slam the door in his face. It wasn't until she noticed just how _attractive _he was in his suits, polished shoes and facial hair; looking so _different _from Jim Morton, St. Bartholomew Hospital employee, that she found herself accepting his invitation, much to her own surprise.

The transition hadn't been an easy one; Sherlock and John had both nearly blown a gasket when they'd caught Molly and Jim locked in a passionate embrace in the morgue. It had taken months, but John had slowly come around, and very graciously did not beat the hell out of Jim when Molly had made him apologize to both John and Sherlock for trying to blow them up.

Sherlock… well. He remained mostly unconvinced.

**..**

Inside the walls of Baker Street, things were as usual. Carefully controlled chaos, Molly Hooper and John Watson sitting on the brown leather sofa, Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty standing toe-to-toe in the middle of the sitting room, trying to outwit each other. It had started out as a dinner and a movie type night, always carefully constructed by John and Molly, and always destroyed by Sherlock and Jim. Tonight it had started over whether or not the leading man was gay; Sherlock insisted he was, while Jim refuted his claim.

"_You thought _I _was gay, remember? Which I'm obviously not." _This was followed up with a particularly lascivious look aimed in Molly's direction. The pathologist had immediately turned bright red and suddenly found the toes of her sensible brown shoes very interesting. The situation escalated to who had the better scores in school, who'd actually _finished _university (neither of them) and on and on.

Molly fiddled with her fingers as her boyfriend's face grew redder and redder, attempting to make himself as tall as possible, forehead creased in a scowl.

"…_he obviously did _not _die, as can be proven by numerous accounts-"_

"_-delirious fans! Elvis Aaron Presley died on August 16__th__ 1977!"_

"Lunatics. I'm surrounded by lunatics," Molly muttered from her spot on the sofa.

"Tell me about it," John said, not taking his eyes from his irate boyfriend. "Want to get a drink?"

"I'd love to."

Neither of the arguing men noticed when their significant others stood and trooped out of the flat, down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk of Baker Street.

**..**

Molly was half asleep when she felt Jim slip into bed beside her nearly three weeks after the latest disastrous evening with John and Sherlock. He'd been out of the country, America this time, for the past two weeks, and Molly had missed him terribly. Missed him so much that she woke rather quickly, and enthusiastically rolled them over, pinning Jim under her. Her lips searched his out and he returned her kiss with gusto, tongue slipping between her lips.

Wasting no time Jim stripped her of her sleep shirt, his hands sliding across her smooth skin as he pushed it over her body. She'd been nude underneath and Jim cupped her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples as she ground down against him, arching her back. The familiar press of their bodies meshing brought a deep, rumbling pleasure from deep inside of her as Molly slid back far enough to tug his pajama trousers and boxers out of the way.

Never one to be pliant and passive in any situation, Jim gripped her hips and drove up into her. Molly threw her head back, thick dark hair cascading waves in contrast to her pale skin. Jim pulled himself into a sitting position, dragging one hand up her body to tangle in that thick hair. His hot mouth found her breast as Molly moved over him, her rhythm familiar in a wonderful way he would have never expected to revel in.

Jim drove her to competition just as surely as she wrung his climax from him, and they collapsed against each other, sweat slicking both their bodies. She grasped his hands as he spooned close into her, Jim breathing hard against the back of her neck. Molly let out a breathless giggle.

"Welcome back," she said. "I missed you."

Jim laughed. "Obviously." He scooped her hair out of his face, pressing a kiss against the side of her now-exposed neck. "I should go away more often, if that's the welcome back I get."

"Don't even think about it."

* * *

_**Author's Note: Yep, so there's that. **_

_**Shameless plug: I've joined up with Petra Todd for a new Sherlolly multi-chapter fic called Unexpected Results. Our profile here is MonsterTodd, and we've also put it up over on Ao3. It would be awesome if you guys would check it out. **_

_**What did you think of this little piece of random? Loved it? Hated it for it's completely way-out in left-field-ness? Let me know! **_


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